


Safe

by cassiopea (nina_monk)



Series: The Burly Banner Series [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Chubby!Bruce - Freeform, Comfort Food, Friendship, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Triggers, Weight Gain, chubby!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 19:36:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2320931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nina_monk/pseuds/cassiopea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As far as Bucky and Bruce are concerned, memories and food can go hand in hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags. Gainer fiction, not (exactly) kink. Contains some PTSD (different universe from Twice the Man).

He didn’t think anyone would notice.

One of his skills, the one he took time to hone, was being a chameleon whenever, however. He passed polygraphs, convinced enemies he was weak, convinced police and doctors he was less than nothing, a blip. A gnat. He affected the aura of a meek, shuffling man who people could easily ignore, and his masks allowed him to disappear into crowds with no one the wiser.

No one looked twice at a bum, after all.

But today, Bruce had things to do and people to see, so he settled his doctor mask in place in time for his 3:30. And when the knock came at 3:27, he permitted himself a brief, fleeting smirk; his patient was punctual, as always.

Bruce pulled up the medical chart and cleared his throat. “Come in.”

His client slipped in silently. Had Bruce not trained himself to hear him (or if his other half hadn’t been on high alert), he doubted he would’ve heard anything at all. But Bruce felt the changes and fluctuations in the room’s temperature while the smell of another person’s soap (Steve’s), and another person’s shaving cream (also Steve’s… _interesting_ ), tickled his nose, and revealed a little more about the man before him.

Bruce glanced up and smiled softly, because it was the right and polite thing to do. “You can sit anywhere, there’s enough room.”

James Barnes, aka “Bucky” to Steve, the Winter Soldier to Natasha, “Dude” to Tony (Bruce never understood why Tony called him that ) and Comrade to Thor stood ramrod straight in the farthest corner of Bruce’s office. Barnes wore a long-sleeved waffle tee but the the outline of his prosthetic could still be seen through the beige material. It was probably some progress, though; Bruce remembered the times when the man refused anything but a heavy overcoat and leather gloves. 

Barnes seemed to be settling into his new life okay including, Bruce thought, some new softness surrounding his middle. The extra weight wasn’t a bad thing, and it looked good on him, actually. But Bruce couldn’t get over how comfortable the Winter Soldier had become; to allow himself, for lack of a better word, to be _normal_.

Bruce envied that, a little.

“I don’t feel like sitting,” Barnes mumbled, and Bruce nodded amicably, even as the other man crossed his arms.

“Then stand, if you want. I’m only going over your medical results, and you don’t need to be sitting for that.”

“I don’t like doctors.”

Bruce tapped a few buttons on Barnes’ e-chart, and then sighed as he noted a few things on his list. “I know. You made that abundantly clear the first time we met. Although technically, I’m not a medical doctor; all I can do is run a few tests, draw blood, give you some ideas of how you’re doing physically, and such. But I can’t prescribe anything, Barnes.”

“You made that clear the first time too, Doctor Banner.”

Bruce’s lip turned. Well. At least this time he used his last name. Every time they talked, Barnes addressed him as “Doctor,” reinforcing the line between them. Steve wanted them to be friends so they could work together as a team, but Bruce doubted that could ever happen.

“I did, I know. But I want—“

“Is there anything else in your notes I should be concerned about?”

Bruce didn’t quite glare at him. He opened his mouth then closed it silently before shaking his head. “No. You’ve put on maybe twenty pounds since you’ve been here, but that’s not a huge concern with your numbers. The serum—“

Barnes’ eyes shot up, dark and lidded, and Bruce felt his own alter, shifting in defense. But Bruce tamped _him_ down. He had no doubts that Barnes might, just might, be fast enough to mortally wound him, but Hulk would retaliate before he’d bleed out. The Winter Soldier, however, would be dead.

“What about the serum?”

“You, Steve and I share it. It keeps us healthy, keeps us from getting sick, or getting cancer or diabetes or heart disease or any of the 21st century ills. It makes your metabolism run much faster than the average man.” Bruce purposely kept his eyes trained on Barnes. “But you seem to have found a way to overcome your metabolism, at least a little.”

The severe lines around Barnes’ lips softened. “A little,” he echoed. “I didn’t eat much as the Soldier. I was fed a lot of nutrients from a tube. I only ate when it was necessary.”

“Mm,” Bruce grunted. “I don’t blame you for wanting to eat a lot, then. You finally get to try it all and have your fill.”

Barnes frowned a little. “It’s more than that, Doctor Banner. It—“

His expression hardened, and Bruce felt the atmosphere shift, just slightly. _Damn_ , he thought. _We were getting somewhere_. But he tried again, testing to see if that door was still open. “It’s what?”

“Nothing.” The Soldier was back, and Bruce steeled his shoulders, expecting an abrupt exit. Barnes spun on his heel and had one hand on the door, but he unexpectedly paused. “Doctor,” he said, and Bruce gentled his expression.

“Yes?”

Barnes glared at the door handle. “I watch everyone. I’ve been watching you in particular.”

Bruce swallowed. “Why?”

"Because I know what being on the run looks like. How it feels to be hunted and haunted. You need something to ground you, Doctor Banner, and you haven’t done that yet. And that makes you unpredictable. Dangerous.” Their eyes met, and Bruce felt the foundation of the wall he built around himself crumble.

“Doctor Banner, has no one told you you’re ‘safe’?”

Bruce stared at his shaking hands, but Barnes slipped out before he could respond. No. No one told him. He wasn’t sure he’d believe it anyway.

But unfortunately, he’d been unmasked.

_Someone noticed._

***

Bruce almost ran. Almost. He planned it in his head, had decided what to bring and what to discard, and mapped out escape routes. But before he bought the bus ticket, Barnes showed up in his lab. The unusual part wasn't that Bruce was in his lab during his lunch hour; Bruce was always in the lab at lunch, and everyone knew it. His memory for mealtimes was so bad, even Tony had to remind him to grab a sandwich. Ever since he arrived at the Tower he had coffee for breakfast and maybe, if he thought about it, a quick dinner. Lunch was usually forgotten because he was always working on one thing or another.

But Barnes popping in on him, and (seemingly) out of nowhere and for no reason, was another story.

“Here.” Slightly startled, Bruce turned from his microscope and gave both Barnes and the white bag on his counter a double take.

“What’s this?”

“Food,” Barnes said simply. “It’s noon.”

“Oh.” Bruce cleared his throat. “Uh…thanks, but usually I—I’m too busy, I’m sorry. Save it for your dinner; you don’t have to buy me anything.”

“I know I don’t, but you don’t have to skip meals anymore. You’re safe.”

Bruce grimaced. That word again. He huffed, almost angrily. “If I eat, will it get you off my back?”

Barnes didn’t say anything. Bruce snorted again and straightened from his hunched position, and then he grimaced because yes, even hulked-out scientists needed to stretch the kinks from their bodies every so often. And yes, he finally noticed he was hungry. _Famished_.

Bruce’s growling stomach echoed in the nearly empty room. “Hm. Well, I guess a little something won’t hurt. What’s for lunch?”

“Open it.”

Bruce licked his lips and opened the bag, and was met with enough heavenly smells to make his mouth water. “Oh, my God. Is that—?”

“Egg rolls, hot and sour soup, and curry beef. From _Tasty King_.”

Bruce’s mouth dropped. “How did you—“

Barnes shrugged. Bruce opened the bag again, grabbed a pair of enclosed chopsticks and a spoon, and tore into the egg rolls and soup. He closed his eyes as the flavors danced on his tongue.

“I told you, Doctor. I watch people. Also, Stark talks a lot.”

Bruce chuckled as he slurped the soup. He’d made short work of the egg rolls and the soup was delicious, but it also proved how hungry he was. “Yeah. Tony does. I’m glad you figured out I wasn’t a vegetarian; I was one because I had to be, not because I wanted to be.”

He let his words drift, but Barnes knew what he meant and didn’t respond. From out of nowhere Bruce’s companion brought out his own lunch, and began munching on a bagel loaded with smoked salmon and cream cheese. They ate in companionable silence, and Bruce was glad for the quiet company.

After the meal he was beyond stuffed and mildly surprised; he’d eaten all of it. The food brought back good memories of the areas he’d felt safe in Southern China, and he kept remembering walking through the busy markets, smelling all the foods, and choosing new and enticing dishes to remind him he was alive and _human_.

“Thanks,” he murmured quietly. Barnes gave him a funny look, as if he were attempting a difficult foreign language.

“You’re welcome,” he finally said, before taking the trash and slipping from the room.

From then on Barnes kept bringing him new meals and, not coincidentally, all were from places Bruce had run to, for safety (Bruce didn’t ask how Barnes knew). But Barnes didn’t stop with lunches; he also began hanging breakfasts on Bruce’s apartment door, and leaving dinners on his stoop. And every couple of hours Bruce found small parcels of snacks, sweets and fried goodies children would’ve eaten, from the places he’d been. Didn’t matter if it was the lab, or if he was in his apartment – Barnes would find a way to feed him; he had unofficially appointed himself as Bruce’s “handler.”

The meals also became subtle and pleasant ways of swapping bad memories with good ones, and Bruce’s nightmares became less frequent as well. Instead of spending all of his time in the lab, he began spending a bit more time with his colleagues and his friends.

“So what did you like best about Madagascar?”

Sometimes Barnes spoke during their meals, but sometimes he wouldn’t; Bruce accepted it either way. Today's breakfast, mofo baolinas, mofo menaely, and mofo akondro with mini cassava cakes was a fun surprise, because Bruce swore the breads were nowhere to be found in New York City. Saturday morning was an unusual time for both of them to sit and chat but Bruce attributed it to a particularly stressful Hulk-out, a few days ago. 

The younger man (technically older, but still younger) dunked his fritter in a sea of syrup and popped a hunk in his mouth while Bruce answered him. “The people.” Bruce tore into one of the sweet fried breads and made a small moan of pleasure. “And goddamn it, the _food_.” His mouth was full as he continued talking. “You could find the world in that one country. I could always find something I’d never eaten before or see things I’d never seen.”

Barnes cocked his head at him. “Really? Describe it for me.”

And Bruce did. He talked about the beaches, the forests, the food with mixtures of Indian, African, European and Latin influences. And the desserts…with real vanilla, no less. He could never say no to a Malagasy dessert, if it was offered.

As Bruce talked, he noticed that Barnes relaxed in kind. And Bruce finally realized that their little discussions (or non-discussions) were more or less healing both of them.

“Sounds like a beautiful place,” Barnes said, once the muffins and fritters and donuts were finished. Bruce had made them both a coffee, and added a smidgen of Madagascar vanilla for the memory.

“It was.”

“So why did you leave?”

Bruce took a sip from his mug. “Why do I always leave? Either the Other Guy makes an appearance, or the local army finds out who I am, and sells me out. Apparently, I was worth a lot.”

Barnes’ expression subtly changed. “Sounds familiar.”

“Doesn’t it, though?”

They finished their coffee in silence.

***

“Ohh, God. That was way, way too much food.” Bruce rubbed his stomach and hiccuped behind a curved fist. And yet he still plucked the last cinnamon stick from the box, swirled in in the frosting sauce, and munched away happily.

“But was it good?”

“Oh, absolutely. Too much and too good.” Bruce stared at the empty pizza box, dripping with grease. The extra-large stuffed crust supreme, cheesy breadsticks and cinnamon twists destroyed them both, but it was worth it. “Reminds me of my university days. Only thing missing is the beer.”

“You don’t drink.”

“No. Not anymore.” Knowing Barnes had dug into so much of his past was a little disconcerting, because he knew which foods invoked certain memories. To be fair, it happened so often that Bruce no longer questioned it, but their mealtimes had turned their uneasy standoff to a palatable friendship.

With a start, Bruce paused in mid-chew, suddenly understanding with crystal clarity: Barnes was erasing _all_ of his bad memories, not just the ones when he was on the run. All. Of. Them. And he’d come to the end, the last tape reel: _The_ Project. And the pizza party held a month before The Accident.

Bruce let the feeling wash over him as he popped the last of the cinnamon twist in his mouth and swallowed it down. He sighed deeply, cleansing his mind inside and out, then gestured to the screen. “Seriously? You’ve never seen these movies?”

The expression on Barnes’ face was a combination of a pouting child and someone trying very, very hard not to laugh.

“No. Never.”

Bruce shot Barnes a grin after he snickered at one of the best parts. “They’re my ‘guilty pleasure’ movies. No one thinks they’re funny but me, but I think Peter Sellers was an underrated comedic genius.”

Bruce watched, delighted, when an honest-to-God laugh tumbled from Barnes’ lips (it happened after Clouseau and Cato tumbled through the wall of a Japanese restaurant).

***

Bruce didn’t notice the impact the comfort food had on his waistline until Tony pointed it out, at Steve's brunch. Steve had invited everyone to his (his and “Bucky’s”) apartment, but it was only after Bruce went up for a third helping of Steve’s buttermilk short stacks that Tony elbowed him.

“If your pants get any tighter, you can audition for Chippendales,” he joked. “You probably won’t need tear-away Velcro. Or, alternately, you could always work as a plumber. ‘Cause. Y’know.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows while Barnes took the seat beside Tony. “Hmm,” Bruce muttered, running a thumb under the waistband. His pants hung lower because his teeming gut was pushing his belt line below his hip bones. And Tony was right in one sense; his hips and thighs had ballooned, making his pants appear painted on.

“I guess I have gained a little weight.”

Tony opened his mouth to add another quip, but Barnes intervened.

“I have some older clothes you can wear, Bruce.” Everyone at the table seemed to stop in mid-chew. Not only was it the first time Barnes had spoken to Bruce publicly (that they knew of) but it was the first time he called him by his first name. Bruce noticed, and a smile pinked his lips.

“Thanks.”

Barnes nodded; the Soldier had put on an additional thirty or so pounds, but he still looked good. Beefier, surely, but good. Bruce realized he was gaining faster than Barnes - possibly because their metabolisms were so very different. The thought that he might overtake Barnes in the pounds department didn’t faze him. It was almost…pleasant, really.

“ _Used_ clothes?” Tony suddenly balked. “Why not just buy some new slacks? My tailor can—“

“Thanks, Tony,” Bruce interrupted. He shared a look with Barnes and dug into his pancakes. “But I don’t think I’ll need a tailor just yet.” Because he would simply outgrow the tailored clothes. He expected he would.

A new feeling flooded his senses and he got caught in the undertow. He let go of the breath he never remembered holding, the one he’d held since arriving. The new memories had finally overtaken the old. The old memories lingered, but he no longer clung to them for comfort. He didn’t need them.

He was grounded.

He was…safe.

Barnes stood and put his plate in the dishwasher. “There’s a Pink Panther marathon on Starz this afternoon.”

“Oh, yeah—?” Bruce’s smile widened. He pulled back from the table, not remembering that he’d eaten the pancakes, and not caring that he had. As he rinsed off his sticky plate and put it in the washer he exchanged a look with Steve. He echoed the small smile settling on Steve’s lips. No, the others didn’t understand. He would have to explain it to them, eventually.

“I’ll spring for pizza this time…Bucky.”

Surprised whispers sprang around the table, forcing a devilish grin across his lips.

 _Or not_ , he thought, trailing after Bucky. _Let ‘em keep guessing_.


End file.
